Beryl peered over the railing of the landing at the top of the stairs leading down into the tavern of the Inn, seeing if the Fates of Mischief were going to be kind to her this eve. By the looks of it, they were! There was nary a barkeep, bar wench, or inn slave around. And, by the sounds coming from some back room, Fugly had claimed a catboy for the night. A grin appears, and mischief gleams brightly in the depths of pale yellow eyes. With her steps quick and light, she all but scampers down the steps, white furred ears upright and swiveling to catch any sounds of would be spies! Her tail sways freely behind her, and the tip of it is the last thing seen as she disappears behind the bar. At 4'2", she's not easily visible on the other side of the long wooden structure that separates patrons and Inn workers. She puts her hands on her hips, and turns in a full circle, taking a look around, hoping for inspiration. It's true, that switching bottle labels has funny results, but she wants to try something different. The various sized and colored bottles catches her eye, and she then glances at the place where drinks are prepared. What if... what if she makes a NEW drink? She'll pick a few bottles, empty the contents into a large pitcher or bowl, mix them together and pour them back IN the bottles! Perfect! With that in mind, she goes to stand in front of aaaaall the bottles along the wall.

She starts reading the labels, muttering to herself, as she tries to figure out what would taste good together. "Hmmm. Dwarf Sweat?" She wrinkles her nose, but then brightens, "Oh! Maybe, I can make it taste better than it sounds!" With the first bottle chosen, she continues to peruse each one, "No, not that one. No. Weeell. No. Oh! This should make Dwarf Sweat taste better! Princess!" Second bottle is plucked from the shelf. So focused on her task, she did not hear anyone enter the Inn. Last she knew, she was the only one here other than the regulars one could find in any tavern, in any town, any time of day or night. "Maybe, one more. Something that sounds sweet." She steps sideways as she goes along the wall of bottles. "Three's a charm, or something, right?" Suddenly, she stops. "That's it! BirdSong! That sounds pretty sweet!" With a bit of awkwardness, that third bottle is procured and she makes her way to where drinks are mixed. After a brief search, she finds a large pitcher that's perfect for her needs. Lofting it onto the surface of the mixing area, she goes about pouring the entire contents of each bottle into the large drink container. Once that task is finished, she tries to find something to stir it with, but is not successful. So, with no other choice, she dips her hand, forearm, elbow, and halfway up her bicep into the liquid and begins to swish it around. When she feels it's been stirred enough, she withdraws her arm, which is dripping all over the counter and floor, and goes in search of a towel. This time, she is victorious and finds a clean bar rag to use. Well, somewhat clean. It was dry. That's all that was important.

The next step, obviously, is pouring the new mixture back into the three bottles. In her mind, she's attempted to improve Dwarf Sweat, which is entirely possible because, let's face it, any change to the drink is probably an improvement. Be that as it may, it doesn't dawn on her that she's utterly ruined the bottles of Princess and BirdSong. Oblivious to the demise of two perfectly good bottles of fine tasting alcohol, she manages to get most of the "new" drink back inside. Losing only about a third of it onto the mixing counter, the floor, and herself.

Finally, she recaps/corks the three bottles and returns them to where they belong. Happy with the results of her plottings, she turns on a wet squeaky heel, and heads back toward the stairs, leaving footprints in her wake. Luckily, even if they didn't dry out immediately, they only trailed about halfway up the steps. A few moments later, she disappeared into the upper floors of the Inn and, somewhere overhead, a door slams shut.

Though it had been enough time since she'd helped with things behind the bar, and tonight seemed to be the perfect night for it! It was very late at night, there weren't any other workers on duty other than Fugly. Brows furrow, did that ogress ever sleep? Between taking care of the Inn and convincing catboys to take care of her - she pauses, then giggles - oh, maybe she took ... ... ... catnaps. She laughs at her own joke then clamps her hand over her mouth, glances around, no one was really here to notice. The snoring drunk in the corner wouldn't hear a convoy of wagons driving through the tavern. Creeping out from behind the railing, she scampers down the stairs, her movements quick and agile. Kitten ears were swiveling about, listening for any tell-tale signs that anyone was coming, and her tail danced lightly behind her. Bounding behind the bar, she comes to a dead stop, then pivots on her heels as a hand comes up to tap a single finger on her chin.

Ah ha. An idea. A sweet, sweet, idea.

Scampering over to an empty, rectangular, and deep basin on the counter, she picks it up and disappears into the kitchens. There's some clattering, a thud, a plaintive "Ow.", then the sound of water being pumped. Several moments pass, then all falls silent. Muttering, a yelp, another thud and splashing?, a shriek, more muttering, another thud, and finally an odd kind of shuffling. The kitchen door opens and a very damp kitling pushes through, lugging a half-filled basin of water. She's trying not to let the water slosh too much, but it's clear that's how she lost half the water as it rises over the edge and soaks the front of her, and peaks enough that her face is splattered a bit as well. At one point, she starts to slip and it looks as if she and the basin would go tumbling but she somehow manages to save herself and after the trials and tribulations of her task, she thunks the container back on the counter where she'd plucked it from. She tries to dry her face with her hands, but only manages to smear the water droplets around and she throws her hands up in surrender. Turning around, she slips and slides her way back into the kitchen. This time, there isn't much to hear, and she quickly returns with a small sack of ... ... sugar. She brings it to the basin and pours half the sack into the water, she sets the sugar aside, in a small puddle of water thereby ruining the few inches on the bottom. She rummages around, and makes a sound of victory when she brandishes a large wooden spoon that is most likely used for stirring pitchers of drinks. Which is exactly what she does. Stir. Mixing and dissolving the sugar in the water. It takes quite a while, but luck is on her side and the wee hours of the night/morning are working in her favor. When she is satisfied with the mixture, she sets the spoon on the counter. Now comes the tedious part of her task.

Moving to the trays that hold the clean glasses, she starts taking the glasses off of the tray, holding as many as she can without dropping them. Carrying them to the basin, she puts them in one at a time. She repeats this until one full layer is in the water. The next step is to spin and turn them until they are completely coated in the sugar water. Pulling them out, she sets them on the counter. Eventually, she'll have done these to ALL of the glasses that are kept behind the bar. Emptying a tray, coating the glasses, letting them dry a bit on the counter, then putting them back. It's a task that takes her most of the night until just before dawn breaks. She's rubbing her eyes and yawning with almost every breath by the time she's done. With every glass now sweetened with sugar water, she smiles at her accomplishment. It's almost another half an hour before she's dragging herself back up the stairs, the basin had been emptied and cleaned, as was the wooden spoon and both were returned where she found them. The counter had also been wiped clean.

After opening the door to her room, barely having the sense to close and lock it behind her, she stumbles to her bed, falls in, and is asleep in seconds.